


Sweet Luck May Come

by elder-flower (elder_flower)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: But also, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Geraskier, Getting Together, Jaskier POV, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, The Witcher Secret Santa 2020, VEEEERY light angst, Winter, Winter Solstice, Yennskier, Yenralt, Yule, geraskefer, lovely midwinter traditions, not christmas honest guv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28448430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elder_flower/pseuds/elder-flower
Summary: Geralt and Yennefer spend a lovely evening together preparing for their friends and loved ones to arrive and celebrate Midwinter with them. Jaskier's there too, of course, although he knows he's a bit of a third wheel, and persuades the others to partake in a new tradition - well, a very old one, really. And if it means more to them to share it with each other than with him (and more to him to share it with them than they know) well, it hurts, a bit, but that's just the way it is, right?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 15
Kudos: 88
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	Sweet Luck May Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carcosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carcosa/gifts).



> This is my Witcher Secret Santa 2020 gift for midnightmagpies on Tumblr [(Carcosa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carcosa)   
> Happy Holidays! 🎄⛄❄️💜
> 
> Title from this poem by Robert Herrick:
> 
> Come, bring with a noise,  
> My merry, merry boys,  
> The Christmas Log to the firing;  
> While my good Dame, she  
> Bids ye all be free;  
> And drink to your heart's desiring
> 
> With the last year's brand  
> Light the new block, and  
> For good success in his spending,  
> On your Psaltries play,  
> That sweet luck may  
> Come while the log is a-tinding
> 
> Yes of course I had heard of him and knew this poem before I came to be looking for a title for this fic, why do you ask...?

They step through the portal into the most biting, breathtaking cold Jaskier has ever experienced in his life. He instinctively curls in on himself, closing his eyes and pulling his heavy, expensive winter cloak tighter around himself. He wishes he’d bought about five more and wrapped himself up in all of them. Yennefer had promised them a house, he thinks; why hadn’t they portalled into the house?

And then he forces his eyes open against the stinging air and almost forgets he’s cold at all. They’ve emerged on a snow-covered hill, and before them is a landscape like nothing he’s ever even imagined. He doesn’t think he would ever have been able to imagine it without seeing it for himself, not if he lived as long as a witcher or a sorceress himself. He’s seen a fair bit of the world – more than most, he would say – but never found himself looking upon a vista anywhere near so stunning.

Perhaps a hundred metres before and below them, the hill meets a plain so absolutely flat it can only be a lake, frozen beneath a blanket of pure, perfect snow. It stretches away from them in all directions, the distances impossible to determine but vast. Its edges are so far away as to be hazy, allowing only a vague, misty impression of the roots of the mountains that drop into it on every side; in fact, the word “mountain” doesn’t seem adequate – there needs to be a separate word for what he’s looking at now, a word that can summon up images of peaks on the sheer scale of these, reaching miles and miles up into the sky. 

And more than all of this, above even the unthinkably high summits of the mountains, the sky is rippling with great waves of light in a million shades of green and blue. They move slowly, like some kind of majestic creature through ancient seas; they hang in the air like flames or smoke but pure and cold; they are silent but look like Jaskier imagines it might look if you could _see_ music, the most beautiful, unsettling otherworldly music that would change you forever just to hear it for a moment…

“What kind of magic is that?” he asks in a dreamlike voice, gazing upwards and never wanting to look away.

“Not magic, just nature. The most amazing things generally are,” Yennefer says matter of factly, but they’ve known each other – been _friends –_ for long enough that he can hear the smile in her voice that says she’s pleased with how in awe he is. 

“Oh! That’s the Northfire! How silly of me, I’ve read about it, of course, it’s the backdrop to a few important old sagas, not to mention it’s referenced in some beautiful poetry from the northern… Well, never mind all that. I just… I had always pictured it so differently, more like… I don’t know, especially bright stars that formed patterns, maybe?”

He manages, finally, to tear his gaze from the skies and lower his head – the sore neck he anticipates from future skygazing is going to be so worth it – to look over at Yen and Geralt. They’re both also admiring the view. Yen’s been here before, of course, but if Geralt is as awestruck as he is, he’s hiding it well and simply looks… serene. Yen does too, as content as he’s ever seen her, and they’re like this place, he thinks to himself – magical (though in their case, literally) and overwhelming, a privilege to be near, and of course, so beautiful they hardly seem real. While they seem to simply belong in a place of beauty and majesty such as this, Jaskier knows he does not. He’s lucky to be here and see such wonders, as he’s lucky to get to be their friend. He’s just a human, a bard who writes as many unremarkable, quickly forgotten songs as he does popular ones and as much ridiculous and smutty poetry and prose as he does witty and beautiful. This place makes him feel smaller and less significant than he ever has in his life, while it just seems to highlight his companions’ greatness by mirroring it, and yet… He feels smaller and more insignificant in a _good_ way. He’s happy. In fact, the sheer wonder of this place has put to rest the qualms he had about coming here in the first place.

He agreed to come with them for the Midwinter Solstice without really thinking it through, and has since been worried that he’ll regret it – after all, isn’t he the odd one out? Isn’t he an intruder into a group that’s going to comprise Yennefer and Geralt’s family? Isn’t it going to be painful being almost an outsider, liked but never loved, looking on as the two of them share an oh-so-rare time of peace and rest and celebration?

He managed to convince himself not to back out of their plans at the last minute, reminding himself that he is still their friend and companion, no matter what. He wants to spend Midwinter with them, and dear Ciri, and they most certainly would not have asked him to come if they didn’t want to spend it with him too. 

It still promises to be somewhat bittersweet, of course, but standing here in the snow with his best friends, under the Northfire and dwarfed by lakes and mountains on an almost incomprehensible scale… Yes, he’s very glad to be here.

“Yen… This is _stunning_ . Unbelievable. More than that, I can’t even think of a _word_ for how incredible this is,” he says, smiling at her. Wherever he looks, he can still see the lights in the sky in his peripheral vision, and they’re reflected in Yennefer’s eyes, and off her dark hair, and Geralt’s too, and it feels like the lights are dancing _around_ them instead of miles above.

She gives him an unimpressed look in return. 

“You seem surprised,” she remarks. “I tell you I’m taking you to one of the most beautiful places that exists in this world, and you’re expecting, what, that it’s probably going to be _quite nice?_ Frankly, I’m offended.”

Once upon a time, he would have believed her. But then again, once upon a time, he had no interest in getting to know her and her mannerisms, or learning to read her eyes and her voice; back then he couldn’t help but resent her for having what he could not. 

“Well that’s what I was going for, of course, maximum offence,” he says, rolling his eyes in an unnecessarily dramatic way because he knows it amuses her. “Seriously, though, thank you, for bringing me here. Thank you for inviting me. Both of you,” he says, letting his gaze take in both her and Geralt. They’re both as gods-damned beautiful as he’s ever seen them, so much so that it almost physically hurts, but he just smiles at them.

They look at each other fondly – well, fondly if you know what to look for – and then, ugh, they reach for each other’s hands. This time Jaskier’s eye roll is not at all overplayed, but neither is his smile. He’s charmed by the affection they show only for each other, and honoured that they share it freely in his presence when they do in nobody else’s, but also a little uncomfortable. 

He would like to be able to say he’s moved on from the jealousy that tormented him years ago, that he’s grown past it, but he hasn’t. If anything he’s become more jealous over time – first as he came to know Yennefer and care for her too, then as his love and adoration for the both of them grew stronger, a process that continues to this day and shows no sign of stopping. A not insignificant part of him is, will always be, absolutely sick with it (and he’s wondered, quite seriously at times, whether it’s possible to actually die of unrequited love) but fortunately that love and adoration, and his deep happiness at how happy they are together, are much, much bigger, big enough to make that part of him seem tiny. 

“Let’s go inside before Jaskier freezes to death,” Geralt says with a tiny smile, and Jaskier abruptly remembers that a few moments ago he was worrying that he really might, and that they had been promised shelter from the elements, however ethereally lovely those elements might be and however willing he might be to gaze upon them for the rest of ever.

Yennefer lets go of Geralt’s hand and turns, and Jaskier turns to follow her, promising himself he’ll come out here again in a while once he’s warmed up. Behind them, he sees, the snow-covered ground is quite flat for maybe quarter of a mile before it becomes a series of rocky foothills to another mountain that, this close to, might as well be all that exists in that direction, the end of the world. Nestled in front of the smallest of these foothills is the house where they’ll be staying for the next few days. From what Jaskier can tell in the half-light, it’s a small cottage – rustic, made of irregular sized stone with slightly crooked tiles on the roof and a chimney at each end. 

It would look at home in an orchard garden somewhere rainy, or a summery meadow of wildflowers; it’s a bizarre thing to see out here in this frozen, completely empty place.

“This is magic, right?” Jaskier says as they approach the oak and iron front door. “The house, you made it with magic, right? There’s no way all the people and materials you would need to build one the normal way got all the way out here. Or maybe... it’s not actually here at all? Is it an illusion? Yen?”

Yen ignores him, opens the unlocked door – well really, who or what would you be locking it against out here? – and walks inside. Jaskier pauses just outside for a moment, trying to inspect what he can see of the house, until Geralt pushes him gently through the doorway too and then follows after him into blessed warmth.

***

Naturally, the inside of the house is far bigger than the outside. It’s grander, too, than the cottage suggested by the exterior, but it manages both grandeur and a level of cozy homeliness, which, in Jaskier’s opinion, makes it absolutely perfect. Its walls are a mix of stone and dark wood panelling; the floors are made of cold black flagstones but every room and corridor seems to have at least one intricate, high-quality but springy and brightly coloured rug; the furniture is without exception beautiful and probably expensive, but subtly (or not very subtly) mismatching. 

Yen gives them a very brief tour of the downstairs rooms – more than one sitting room, library, dining room, gigantic kitchen and, to Jaskier’s delight, a music room full of books and instruments he fully plans on getting his hands on before he goes to sleep tonight – then leads them up the sweeping staircase in the entrance hall. Upstairs, she points out no less than three bathing chambers, then her room and Geralt’s adjoining one (they’ll be sharing a bed in one or the other, of course, but both of them like their space) and opposite, Jaskier’s. Plenty other doors go ignored, presumably leading to more bedrooms that will be used by Ciri, Triss, and whichever other witchers decide to join them (they’re all invited, but none of them has yet committed to turning up).

“Alright, make yourselves at home, boys!” she says. “Geralt, I know you’re going to want to try the baths – I recommend that one.” She points back at one of the earlier doors. “It might be too hot even for _you_ . And Jaskier, I saw you eyeing the musical instruments. I’m going to relax for a little while – you can come and join me in the library if you wish, but neither of you had better _need_ me for anything.”

Jaskier looks at Geralt as she sweeps off down the polished wooden staircase, looking extremely poised and glamorous even in her very plain black dress, and finds that Geralt is already looking at him. He’s smiling, a calm, barely-there smile, one that Jaskier’s learnt over the years he tends to be unaware of himself, which has led to much teasing from him and Yennefer. It’s Jaskier’s favourite of his smiles, probably, signaling relaxation and contentment, and he only wishes Geralt’s life was always like this – beautiful places, simple comforts, the company of the people he cares for. 

Deep down, Jaskier is sure Geralt would suit a relatively quiet, comfortable life and it would suit him. He certainly deserves it. If Jaskier could somehow provide that for him, for all three of them, he would in a heartbeat, but it’s clearly not what destiny has in mind for them. (Well, Jaskier’s fairly certain destiny doesn’t give a fuck about him, but just as it has tied Geralt and Yennefer to each other, and to Ciri, with the power of magic or fate or what have you, he’s tied himself to all of them with the power of sheer bloody-minded stubbornness, and destiny will just have to fight him if it wants that bond broken.)

“Meet you in the library in a bit?” Geralt says, and they agree to find Yen and each other downstairs in a couple of hours. 

Well anyway, Jaskier thinks as he puts his lute and his single small bag of clothes and sundries in his perfectly sized, well-appointed room and then makes his way back to the music room, admiring every piece of furniture and decoration on the way, Yen would find it unbearably dull, a life without danger and intrigue, being powerful and using that power. She’s not the kind of person who’s given to contentment, even, he suspects, if she had the opportunity to find it. But he does daydream about it, sometimes – having a home, maybe somewhere very much like this, and sharing it with them. It wouldn’t be somewhere they spent all their time, probably not even most of it, but it would be somewhere they could come back to any time, to find each other and to find a bit of peace and comfort, for as long as it took for them to get fed up and feel the need to go somewhere and do something again. Geralt would be the one who spent the most time there, Jaskier imagines, if there were no monsters to fight, and no war, and no gods-accursed destiny. He would spend his time with Ciri, and tending to Roach and the handful of other horses they’d have, and…

Well anyway, it’s a stupid dream and one he shouldn’t be allowing himself to indulge in. If Geralt and Yen and Ciri had such a place… It’s possible they _will_ have such a place, one day, many decades after he himself is in the ground… Anyway, even if they did, and he was still around to see it, it would be theirs and he would be nothing more than a visiting friend. 

He feels his heart sink as it always does when he remembers himself after letting his mind wander in this kind of direction, and sighs quietly, but thankfully he arrives at the music room just in time for his slight despondency to be absolutely blown away by the joy of diving into the incredible collection of fine instruments and rare and ancient manuscripts it houses.

There’s at least one of every instrument he can properly play there, along with many that he can’t, not really, but could have a go at and probably pick out a recognizable tune. There are also instruments there that he’s never seen or even heard of, which is exciting and absolutely mystifying – and of course he’s drawn to those first – he must make notes before they leave, so he can do some research at some point in the future. They vary from most likely the oldest examples of their types he’s ever seen to apparently brand new, and the few that aren’t of the highest quality workmanship are strange and unique in ways that pique Jaskier’s imagination instantly.

By the time he’s tested out every single instrument in the room, however, he’s given his heart to two things. Neither of them is a lute, surprisingly – even though the collection includes some that are arguably of even finer make and better provenance than his own beloved one – but rather an old maple wood recorder that has lost some of its shine but none of its lovely sound, and a small lyre that seems to have been carved from bone.

Eventually Jaskier realizes he’s completely lost track of time and should probably join the others as he said he would, so he bids a regretful goodbye, for now, to the music room and heads to where he thinks the library was, choosing the right door on only his second try. 

It's a large, long room, stretching away from the door like an extremely wide corridor with full bookshelves covering every inch of wall space. He can’t see Yen or Geralt at first, but he goes in anyway and makes his way slowly along, scanning the shelves in case something jumps out at him that he might like to read. Nothing does, as it’s all – well, exactly what you might expect a sorceress to have in her library, _Treatise on the Magical Properties_ _of_ this and _The Use of Chaos for the Purposes of_ that. 

As he approaches what looks like the end of the room, he realizes that in fact the shelf-walls fall away on either side, with adjoined but slightly secluded spaces opening up to the left and right. He glances into the area to the right, which offers a large window with a view onto – well now, that’s certainly NOT the frozen, barren night they had come in from, but Jaskier can’t say he’s that surprised; then he turns to the left, where there’s a variety of comfortable looking armchairs and couches, a luxuriously thick rug white fur rug, and a plain hearth of grey stone with a cheerfully roaring fire that looks extremely inviting. 

Lounging on a long couch that faces the fire is Yen, her legs stretched out along the couch, with a silver goblet on a small table beside her and a book in her hands; Geralt is perusing the shelves, which continue on all the walls except the ones with the fireplace and the window, but he doesn’t look like he’s particularly serious about trying to choose a book - more like he’s just relaxing, thinking maybe.

They both look somehow different than usual, and it takes Jaskier a moment to realise it’s not simply just that he’s seeing them so completely calm and relaxed – although that is exceedingly rare. No, there are specific things about their appearances that are out of the ordinary. 

Yennefer, he realizes, has a blanket draped over her legs. It looks like someone knitted it by hand – someone competent at knitting, but certainly not an expert – in a pattern reminiscent of Skelligan tartan. It has squares of brown, dark blue, and warm orange, and it’s so _un-Yennefer_ (both the look of the thing and the concept of using something for warmth and comfort) that he can’t quite believe it. Furthermore, her severe high-heeled boots are on the rug, tucked neatly beneath the table. He doesn’t know why that adds another layer of strangeness, but it does, perhaps because it’s just so… _ordinary_. He’s seeing this extraordinary woman being utterly normal – and she’s _letting_ him.

Geralt, meanwhile, looks much the same as ever, if cleaner and neater than on an average day of monster hunting, but instead of the customary way he ties back half his hair and leaves some loose, he has it all pulled back in one ponytail. Jaskier doesn’t get to see him wear it like that often. And his clothes… Jaskier could count on two hands how many times he’s seen Geralt wear anything other than all black, and on one how many times it was voluntary, but, although it’s not necessarily clear at first glance, his boots are dark brown, and the sleeveless tunic he’s wearing over his shirt is actually a very beautiful dark green. It all suits him wonderfully – the slight relaxation of his personal dress code, the simple hairstyle. He gets the same feeling as he had observing Yen a moment ago – the feeling that he’s getting to see Geralt “at home”, even though this isn’t his home (and most likely isn’t technically Yen’s either). He sees Geralt in this mode more often than he does Yen, but it still feels like a gift.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching them, but Yen looks up as she notices him, and Geralt, who probably knew he was coming as soon as he closed the music room door, looks up when she looks up, and they both smile at him and _gods_ , how could he have considered for a moment spending Midwinter apart from them? It doesn’t matter that he’ll never be what he wants to be to them; being with them is, if not enough, then very nearly enough.

“Here,” Yen says, stretching her hand over the back of the couch towards him with a second goblet now magically held in it. “How do you like the music room?”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the goblet and sipping – it’s red wine, absolutely delicious, of course. “And I’m absolutely in awe of it, as I’m sure you knew I would be! Yen, I’ve never seen instruments like some of those. I mean literally _never seen,_ I don’t even know what some of them are! I can’t imagine where you got them. And some are so ancient and strange… Are any of them enchanted, do you know? Well, of course you would know. Oh, I could spend the rest of my life researching and writing about the collection you have, if I didn’t prefer the more practical aspects of music… Perhaps when cursed old age forces me to retire from the life of travelling and performing I should spend my twilight years in pure academia, writing books about The Vengerberg Collection of Rare and Ancient Instruments that only ten people will ever read, and only three people will actually _enjoy_ reading… I’d never be finished, of course, but at least it would be interesting. And I haven’t even looked at any of the books and manuscripts yet!”

She doesn’t interrupt his enthusing but he stops himself from going on for too long – neither she nor Geralt care overly much for music, much less for being lectured on his initial theories on the provenance of ancient and valuable but ultimately random instruments. She’s still smiling, somewhat indulgently, when he stops talking, though.

“I think if you ever retire from performing it will only be because they drag you kicking and screaming from the stage, and that day, if it ever comes, is a long way off,” she says, “but I’ll make sure to keep hold of everything, and you will of course be welcome to do with it as you wish whenever you wish. Nothing in that room has so far been appreciated as it deserves. In the meantime, anything that you want and feel able to carry around with you is yours.”

Jaskier is genuinely shocked by this offer.

“Well now I _know_ it’s all stolen,” he says weakly. “There’s no way you’d just give me something so valuable of your own! Seriously though, Yen, I absolutely could not take anything from that room – yes, yes, don’t give me that look, of course I would _love_ to, but it’s… Those instruments are museum pieces, and completely unique creations that need to be studied – and even those that aren’t are rare and, and beautifully made and literally worth fortunes, I’m sure of it. Even I can’t justify simply, you know, sticking a few in my bag and off I go…”

Yennefer is clearly enjoying sipping her wine and repeatedly rolling her eyes at him as he speaks, while Geralt is half ignoring them, still browsing the bookshelves and occasionally looking like he’s listening to the conversation.

“It’s not stolen, actually,” she says archly. “This house and its entire contents were given to me in exchange for services rendered.”

“What services would those be?” Geralt puts in unexpectedly, sounding distinctly amused.

“Killing the extremely powerful and dangerous mage who owned the place before me, of course,” Yen said as someone else might say _writing a letter of recommendation to the Oxenfurt admissions committee_ or _catering my son’s wedding._ “And anyway, you’re being ridiculous. Just take what you want and consider it a Midwinter gift, from me to you, whatever you take. You can have all of it, as far as I’m concerned, but I don’t suppose you have anywhere to put it right now.”

“Yen, that’s… A completely insane gift. _Thank you_ ,” Jaskier says fervently, absolutely thrilled to think of the recorder and the slightly creepy lyre he had fallen in love with being his to keep.

“Good,” Yennefer says instead of _you’re welcome._ Now, will you stop hovering and sit down – both of you – and we can enjoy a bit of peace and quiet for a while before we decorate this place?”

Geralt ignores this request and in fact heads back around the corner into the main library; Jaskier realizes why when he approaches the shelves to choose himself something to read. Unlike the rest of the library, none of the books here are serious or in-depth or in any way difficult – these are, without immediately apparent exception, sordid romance novels with brightly coloured spines and fluffy, meaningless titles like _The Master’s Friend_ and _A Summertime Encounter_. Absolutely Jaskier’s thing, and, it would seem, Yen’s, but not at all Geralt’s, so it’s unsurprising when he comes back around the corner carrying something that looks much more serious and factual.

Jaskier scans the books nearest to him and picks out one called _The Soldier and the Siren_. The front cover does not disappoint, decorated with some… intense art of an attractive human man with an unnecessarily open shirt and a lithe and remarkably flexible half-man half-creature that Jaskier supposes at least resembles a real siren. 

“I fucking knew you’d want to read that,” Geralt grumbles without even looking up from where he’s sitting at the opposite end of the couch from Yen.

“Mainly for the accurate monster portrayal,” Jaskier says, holding the book out to show Geralt the art as he settles himself happily into the armchair nearest Yen’s side of the couch.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Yen comments, and Jaskier can hear what sounds like a disapproving sigh from Geralt, but the witcher has a fond half-smile on his face as he considers his own book. 

The next couple of hours they spend in warm, peaceful comfort with endless wine and little noise aside from the peaceful crackling of the fire. Jaskier gets extremely into the very physical love story between the soldier and the “siren”; whenever he looks up Yen is still absorbed in her book too (something along the same lines as Jaskier’s). Geralt mostly seems to be ignoring his, gazing into the fire and deep in thought, but whatever he’s thinking about it can’t be too taxing, as he looks restful and entirely at ease. 

Eventually Yen throws her blanket off and puts her boots back on – another extremely normal, everyday little moment that Jaskier will hold precious in his memory forever – and declares it’s time for them to decorate the house. As in most things, Geralt and Jaskier go along with her wishes without complaint (though Jaskier makes sure to clearly mark his place, as he has no intention of not finishing this book).

“Why don’t you just decorate using magic?” Geralt makes the mistake of asking as they consider the largest sitting room where they intend for their guests to spend most of their time. The look Yen gives him would no doubt make lesser men literally faint; the look she gives Jaskier when he laughs at them is almost as bad. 

“I’m not wasting Chaos when we all have perfectly good hands and the mental and physical ability to _place_ things and _hang_ things,” she says. “I will create or summon things and then we will put them all in place the more mundane way.”

Her creations are more beautiful than anything Jaskier has ever had the pleasure of decorating anywhere with – brightly coloured garlands, gold and silver bells, strings of tiny stars that glow with magic, crystalline snowflakes on almost invisible ribbons. Endless winter plants also appear: mistletoe and holly, branches of pine and conifer, even an entire fir tree, all of which she insists is completely unmagical and has merely been transported for them to make use of.

By the time they’re twenty minutes or so into decorating that first room, draping greenery along mantlepieces, hanging lights on the walls, arguing about where things should go and what kind of ornaments would look best on the tree, Jaskier is fairly sure that the reason she isn’t just doing it all herself with one wave of her extremely powerful hand is less about conserving Chaos and more about making this into a group activity. It’s fun, and frivolous, and provides ample opportunity for bickering, and he can tell she’s enjoying herself. From a look and an almost-smile Geralt gives him as she’s directing him to move the tree (as only he could possibly lift it) he sees Geralt can tell too. 

Honestly, he would have trouble finding the right words to describe the soft warmth in his chest, perhaps stronger tonight than he’s ever felt it before. Seeing the two people he loves the most enjoying the innocent, homely fun of decorating for Midwinter, getting to share in it with them… No, “fancy words”, as Geralt would call them, are unusually hard to find when all he can think of to describe how he feels is pure, simple, unpoetic “happiness”.

With the three of them (and Yen’s magic) it only takes maybe three hours to decorate all the sitting rooms and the dining room, the entrance hall, the kitchen (slightly, in a way they’ll be able to work around when preparing food) and the little area at the back of the library, which is already Jaskier’s favourite part of the house. In the end they leave the tree in the main sitting room free of ornaments, deciding instead to decorate it in the morning with Ciri. Having a Solstice tree in one’s home is originally a Cintran tradition, after all, and all of them recall the grand, towering and beautifully decorated trees that decorated the castle in winters gone by; hopefully she will enjoy choosing ornaments and adorning it together with everyone else.

By the time they’re done it’s definitely evening, and they’re all starving. Yen tells them that a handy spell set up by the previous inhabitant ensures the kitchen will always be well stocked no matter how much they make their way through, so they help themselves to bread and cheese and fruit and whatever else they find that they fancy, and Jaskier brews up hot tea in a truly monstrous pot. It will be getting late soon, and tomorrow will be an early start and a long, busy day, but as they sit at the long table that takes up most of the kitchen, eating and drinking and chatting as if this was _home_ , for all of them, he finds himself wishing more, not less, that the evening might never end.

“We haven’t got a yule log,” Geralt comments out of nowhere, and he’s right; somehow none of them remembered this most central and universal Midwinter tradition. Yen looks surprisingly thoughtful at the notion, and Jaskier is struck by the idea that it brings up bad memories for her. He knows little of who she was or where she came from before she was a sorceress, but he’s sure that, like him, and like Geralt, her earliest Midwinter memories are not good ones. 

“Let’s get one,” he says decisively, as if it’s a cantrip to banish the memory of his father refusing to do so, scorning it as a peasants’ tradition and scorning the people who adhered to it, sneering at young Julian for liking the symbolism of a light burning on and on in the dark, of keeping a bit of this year for the next, even harmless solstice customs providing opportunities for him to disappoint… “Let’s do it properly, you know, go out and choose it ourselves!”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, bard, we’re sorely lacking in trees in our current location – and opening portals takes energy, so if you think I’m just going to whisk us all away to the middle of some forest just to…”

“Not travelling by portal twice in one day, fuck off. Three times, since we’d have to come back…” Geralt grumbles as she goes on talking, and listening to both of them complain at him at once shouldn’t be like music to his ears, but it is, it really is. 

He decides to push his luck, because he can tell their protestations aren’t entirely serious and because he really wants to do it, to take this ancient tradition and make it new for the three of them.

“Oh come on, it’s a nice idea! It’ll be fun! And it won’t take long, it doesn’t even need to be a particularly good one, we’ll be there and back in- in ten minutes, surely, and we’ll have our yule log! And you can rest, Yen, and Geralt can light it, and… And it’ll be ours.”

Geralt and Yen look at each other across the table and then make expressions that almost completely match each other.

“Fine,” Geralt sighs at the same time as Yen shrugs and says, “I suppose it can’t hurt,” and as they both stand, the sturdy wooden chairs scraping on the flagstones, Jaskier feels like giving a little cheer - so he does.

“Yes! Oh, this’ll be _fun_! A little late-night forest jaunt, just the thing-”

“We’re leaving in five minutes,” Yen interrupts him. “If you’re not ready and in the hallway in five minutes, we’re not going anywhere. So hurry the fuck up.” She gives him a stern glare as she speaks, but he can tell she’s putting it on even before she smiles at him.

Still, he knows she absolutely will follow through on the threat and refuse to go anywhere if he’s not ready in time, and he is not missing out on this chance for the three of them to create a shared tradition.

He’s back downstairs in significantly less than five minutes, outfitted with his own cloak and boots and various extra layers of clothing, including an extremely warm and soft knitted hat with a bright red pom-pom on it that he hopes he’ll be able to keep, that he found in a wardrobe in his room that must be enchanted, since everything in it fits him more perfectly than even the best tailoring can manage. 

Geralt comes down the stairs half a minute after him, also dressed in a mix of things that Jaskier recognizes as his own and other, generally more colourful things (“enchanted wardrobes” certainly answers the question of where he came by his still-largely-but-not-entirely-black outfit) and armed, if not with all his weapons then at least with his most important ones. 

“You’re bringing your swords?” Jaskier asks him, surprised until he realises he really shouldn’t be. 

“Just in case. Never know what we might encounter in a random forest in the middle of the night.” 

Geralt is looking at him funny, Jaskier’s certain.

“That’s fair, I suppose,” he says absently, peering at the witcher and trying, but failing, as he so rarely does these days, to work out what his expression means. 

“Oh, it’s the hat, isn’t it?” he says after a moment, remembering he has it on. “Do you think it looks silly? Well, I _know_ it looks a little bit silly, but I like it! So there! And it’s sooo warm! We’re not all impervious to being harmed by the winter’s chill, you know.”

Geralt looks a little confused for a few seconds, then smiles at him as if he’s in on some joke that Jaskier isn’t. He might feel self-conscious under that amused yellow gaze if Geralt didn’t think a large number of his loveliest outfits were silly anyway, and if the number of silly things they’d seen each other doing over the years didn’t number, probably, in the hundreds. 

Yennefer arrives at the bottom of the grand staircase after what is most likely five minutes to the second, and- is she looking at him weirdly too? Really?

She looks him over with a similar small but amused smile to Geralt’s and gods, they’re becoming more and more like each other. Well, that’s normal in serious relationships, right?

“Nice hat,” she comments. Jaskier finds it more difficult not to feel self-conscious in front of Yen, but he manages it via sheer defiance, as he always does.

“Of _course_ you think it’s nice,” he says, pulling it down further as if to secure it, although of course it’s the perfect size already. “It’s your hat!”

“Mm, not exactly. Those wardrobes create things to the taste of whoever opens them – so I could never open one of them and get _that_ out.” She eyes him suspiciously, as if she can tell that he’s just decided his new goal for their time here is to inspect the things the wardrobes create for her and for Geralt; he’s suddenly in love with the idea of seeing what they might secretly like to wear but choose not to for whatever reason. Perhaps Yen would like to put on a bright pink knitted cardigan once in a while; perhaps Geralt would like to fight a couple of monsters in comfy slippers…

He loses that train of rather charming thought as a portal abruptly screeches into existence a few handspans in front of them. Geralt winces; Yen elbows him.

“Grow up,” she orders him, and then pushes both of them through with a gentle but insistent shove.

***

The snow where they come out is past their ankles, and the cold is as shocking as it was earlier, though Jaskier feels a little better protected from it with his warm layers and magic hat. It’s also much darker than earlier, and until Yen sends a few handy little globes of magical light up to float around them, all Jaskier can really see is stars and the tops of some trees silhouetted by the light of the Northfire, not all around and above them this time, but somewhat more diffuse and visible only in one direction. 

“We made it! Brilliant! Thanks Yen,” he enthuses, and Yen looks somewhat pleased even as she mutters about opening portals constantly and it being among the least impressive of her powers. “Alright! Now what kind of log does everyone have in mind?”

“You said it didn’t have to be a good one,” Geralt says flatly, scanning the deep, heavy shadows around them with his excellent dark vision. “Don’t get picky, just get one that’s already on the ground. Ideally the first one we see.”

Yen surprises Jaskier by backing him up when he refuses the first fallen branch they see, and the next few, all skinny little things that can barely be called branches, let alone logs, and telling Geralt that since they’ve come all this way they may as well try and get a half decent one after all. Jaskier eyes a few substantial and low, but still undeniably attached, branches hopefully.

“Jaskier. There are wolves in this forest, and bears, if not worse things. We’re not taking the time to chop down our own branch. Pick one up from the floor,” Geralt says when he notices Jaskier looking up instead of down.

Yen makes a nondescript little noise like those Geralt is so fond of using, and glances at Jaskier, looking distinctly… mischievous. She makes an almost unnoticeable gesture, and there’s a crack that sounds heart-stoppingly loud in the silence of the forest, and the branch Jaskier had been admiring, thick and wrapped around with ivy, drops into the snow, conveniently broken so that the main part of it is a neat, fire-ready log.

“That one looks perfect,” she tells Geralt with a teasing smile. It is perfect, it’s absolutely perfect, and Jaskier grins at her as he struggles (only slightly) to pick it up, though he thinks she’s still looking at Geralt. 

“Give it here,” the witcher sighs, taking the large log from Jaskier as if it was a tiny twig, and Jaskier beams at him too, charmed by the sight of the two of them in the snow in their long cloaks, lit by a magical glow and looking fondly at each other – and at him. The fact that Geralt looks like some kind of winter spirit, holding a log wreathed in ivy, hair as white as the snow, while Yen looks like she could be a goddess of the night, her raven hair uncovered, light and dark at her command… Well, that’s just a flight of fancy that made this moment extra wonderful and even more worthy of a song (or at least a poem). 

“Yen, take us home. There’s a whole pack of wolves coming this way,” Geralt says commandingly, breaking the spell. 

At their panicked reactions – Yen raising her hands, prepared to cast, and Jaskier, who’s not even carrying his dagger, just giving him a horrified look - he smiles, the bastard. 

“We’d better hurry. They’ll be here in ten minutes, easily,” he says. “They might even be able to tell we’re here soon.” Jaskier bends down to grab a handful of snow and flings it at him.

“You utter bastard,” he says, laughing and mostly feigning his indignation. “You enjoy scaring us!”

Geralt shrugs, ignoring the snowball hitting him in the shoulder. “Only when you piss me off.”

To Jaskier’s utter surprise, Yennefer then gathers a hefty snowball – using her hands, not magic, bending down in a most undignified manner – and throws it at Geralt too, a glancing blow to the head that barely touches him but knocks his hood back.

“You ARE a bastard,” she says, throwing another, sounding like she might actually laugh, “and we’re going back to enjoy a warm fire courtesy of that lovely log, so if you could just throw it through behind us… Come on, Jaskier.” She opens a portal right by Jaskier and then takes him by the elbow, guiding him through. “Say hi to the wolves for us, Geralt,” she calls back to him from the living room of the house, and for a second Jaskier thinks she really will close the portal before there’s time for Geralt to follow them; she doesn’t, though she does wave one hand in a gesture that Jaskier, at least, would not recognize as _not_ being part of a spell.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave me there,” Geralt grumbles fondly at her as the portal closes behind him.

“Well, you didn’t throw that after us like I told you to,” Yen says, indicating the spoils of their little mission. “And it would have been such a shame to leave it there after all the hard work we put into acquiring it. Go on then, put it on the fire!”

Geralt starts towards the room’s main, largest fireplace, where there’s nothing but smouldering embers left and he’ll be able to just put it on top, but Jaskier realises he’s kind of had other plans for it all along, and stops him with a word.

“Wait!” he says, then carries on talking before he can decide not to say anything. Is this stupid? Are they going to think he’s stupid? Yes, it’s stupid, he thinks, but he goes barrelling on anyway. “Don’t put it in here, why don’t we put it in the library instead? I- I know we’re planning on this being the main room for everyone to use over the next couple of days, but, uh, I really like it in the library, where we were, uh, hanging out earlier, um, together, and, it would be nice if it was in there just, ah, burning away, you know, like a yule log does, um, and…” He clears his throat awkwardly, not looking directly to see what expressions they’re making. “And also, we should probably take the... stuff off it before we burn it. We can add it to the rest of the decoration. You know, um, ivy. Yep.”

“Good idea,” Yen says briskly, and sweeps out of the room with Geralt following. Jaskier doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he’s apparently getting what he wanted – this new old tradition he wants them to have set up in a place that he already thinks of as theirs, will remember as theirs when he looks back on this Midwinter… 

He follows them through the house. He can hear them ahead of him speaking quietly to each other as they walk but doesn’t listen to what they’re saying, getting lost in his thoughts and falling a little way behind. He’s a bit pathetic, really, he knows, clinging on to times and places and things Yen and Geralt share with him in friendship as if they’re being shared in the same kind of unending love he’s bringing to them. But… Well, pathetic or not, he’s happy – right now, he’s especially happy.

When they’re back in their little sanctuary at the back of the library – where the window opposite the fireplace now does appear to look out over the real world location of the house (or at least the front door) Jaskier notes, incredible mountains and lights in the sky and now heavily falling snow too – Geralt makes short work of setting up the fire appropriately and putting the log in pride of place in the middle. Jaskier picks up the discarded ivy and adds it to the decorations adorning the bookshelves. 

“Don’t light it yet!” says Yen as Geralt starts to make the sign for igni. “It’s going to be our special new tradition, right?” she adds, looking at Jaskier. “So let’s do it properly. Get comfortable, get something to drink and settle in for the evening. Maybe even say a few words.” She gives Geralt a meaningful look, as if she’s trying to communicate with him telepathically, but if she wanted to do that she definitely could, so Jaskier has no idea what she’s trying to convey, or why. The way Jaskier tends to do things – the slightly silly, sentimental, unnecessarily ceremonial way – is not generally, not _ever_ , the way either of the others do things. 

“Good idea,” Geralt agrees – again, surprising. Jaskier is almost certain he does _not_ think it’s a good idea.

“Of course it is,” Yen says airily. “So let’s go and get changed out of these cloaks, melted snow is getting everywhere, and meet back here. Jaskier, bring your lute, or something from the music room, so you can play for us.”

This is what brings Jaskier closest to mentioning their uncharacteristic behaviour and the fact that they’re obviously trying to humour him. They both hear him play constantly, of course, whenever he’s with either of them, and these days they even make the effort to try and compliment him or provide honest feedback, but Jaskier can’t remember the last time either of them asked him to play something. He stares at Yen, and almost says something to her… but then, he was already planning to make them listen to at least a few traditional Midwinter carols anyway, and if they’re trying to make him happy, then as long as they’re enjoying themselves, he decides he should let them, and enjoy it too. 

“Okay!” he says brightly. Yen is staring back at him expectantly, as if he has to go first and should be aware of that fact, and- oh, Geralt isn’t looking in his direction at all, perhaps she’s just trying to hint that they’d like a few moments alone together, which makes sense, of course, so he does as he’s told.

He takes his time returning to his room, and getting changed into the most luxuriously soft trousers and a festive red tunic from the wardrobe, as well as some frankly heavenly comfortable slippers, to make sure they have plenty of time without him. He continues at his deliberately slow pace as he takes his lute down to the music room and faffs with the instruments a bit more, before picking up the recorder – his, now, he remembers with a smile – and meandering back to the library, checking on their decorating handiwork as he goes and occasionally repositioning something slightly.

When he rejoins them, Yen and Geralt, both also changed and looking like soft, comfortable versions of themselves he is overjoyed to be seeing, are sitting on the couch before the fire, each at one end. Geralt looks slightly discomfited, somehow, though Jaskier can’t quite put his finger on why. Yen looks perfectly normal, but then, through sheer force of will, she manages to never look anything less than perfectly poised and in complete control, as though everything is exactly as she planned it (which it normally is). All in all, he gets the distinct feeling that something’s going on. He’s probably interrupting, they’d probably rather spend the evening alone, and they don’t want to say so because they care about him and want him to have a nice evening… He would have liked to be there with them when they lit the yule log, but if his idea becomes a tradition just for the two of them, that’s nearly as good, really it is. 

He’s on the verge of pretending to be more tired than he is and retiring to his room for the night to wallow in sadness and heartache – just a little of course… but perhaps he can raid the kitchen for something sugary and comforting on the way – when Yen raises one eyebrow at him and says, “I can hear you thinking, bard – no, not literally, don’t look so horrified. Relax and sit down.” She sounds teasing, but looks sincere, and when Jaskier glances at Geralt, the look he gets in return is so warm that he decides he must have read the situation wrongly. Even if he did interrupt some kind of private moment, they don’t seem bothered by it, and they obviously want his company now. 

He settles his lute and the recorder in its little case on the floor by an armchair and is about to settle himself in it when Yen pats the space between her and Geralt and says, “No no, come and sit with us,” in a tone that suggests the very idea of him not obeying her is ludicrous. 

It’s turning into a slightly strange evening, he thinks, though what he says is, “yeah, why not?” It all gets another degree stranger when, the moment he sits down, Geralt stands up suddenly and walks out of the library, looking extremely tense and muttering about drinks. Jaskier watches him til he rounds the corner into the main library and then turns to Yen, surprised to see she isn’t, well, surprised.

“Something _is_ going on!” he says accusingly. “I know something’s going on, Yennefer. I just don’t know whether I should be amused or worried. Is he alright?”

Yen’s expression would suggest amused, but also that both he and Geralt have disappointed her in some small way. 

“Oh, he’s absolutely fine,” she says, unconcerned enough that any growing traces of worry evaporate from Jaskier’s thoughts. “Our dear Geralt is just a little… on edge this evening, I think.”

“On edge?” Jaskier echoes, suddenly very confused. “Why would he be on edge? Oh, I suppose he’s not enjoying himself,” he muses out loud, his heart twisting uncomfortably. “Is he not looking forward to tomorrow? I know there’s going to be a lot of people here, but it’s only the people he loves and likes being with the most… Did we pressure him too much about making a big deal out of Midwinter? I honestly didn’t think he was stressed about it. Or, oh, he’s probably annoyed because I made him go out on a stupid mission to fetch a stupid fucking branch to set on fire, isn’t he?” He stares slightly ruefully at said branch. “And I knew he would much rather have just been relaxing here with you… I mean, I maintain that it’s a lovely tradition and a good idea had by yours truly, but I suppose I can see how it might be irritating to be pestered into it, and you’ve both been so kind, putting up with my nonsense, but…” 

“Gods, would you just shut the fuck up?” Yen finally interrupts him, having made a valiant attempt to ignore him and return to her book from earlier. “He’s _happy._ You know him better than anyone, can’t you tell he’s happy? And besides, when have either he or I ever been _kind_ to you? Or to anyone else, for that matter?”

“Yen,” he starts, and it’s a conversation he knows he won’t succeed in getting her to have – why she insists, why both of them insist on denying they’re even capable of being the kind, fiercely devoted people they are, as lovers to each other and as friends to him. 

“He’s a bit out of sorts, but he’s well. He’s looking forward to tomorrow, as much as he does to anything, and as for getting your bloody yule log for you, well if you don’t know by now that he would do anything to please you, then…” She trails off into silence as if she doesn’t know how to finish the thought, which Jaskier doesn’t know that he’s ever heard her do before. She speaks deliberately and with confidence, always, even if he knows now that sometimes, ever so rarely, the confidence isn’t backed up by the way she feels inside. Before he can begin to consider what that might signify, she smirks at him in a familiar way that suggests he’s a bit dim. “Just calm down and wait for him to get back. Here.” She waves her hand vaguely and _The Soldier and the Siren_ appears in his lap. 

They spend the next few minutes in silence, each ostensibly reading, but Jaskier can’t concentrate on the book, despite the really quite _interesting_ nature of his current chapter. He lets himself be reassured by Yen’s words that Geralt is fine, if acting a little oddly, but his mind sticks on something else she said: h _e would do anything to please you_ . Both of them do so much for him, and just being with them pleases him. He stares at the unlit log in the fireplace and sees them again in the forest, looking wild and beautiful and strong, and there just to help him with a stupid task to make him happy, probably not even realizing he wants it to make _them_ happy, and he feels incredibly lucky. He doesn’t think either of them would ever admit to being worthy of loving or being loved, not even by each other, but they are, gods, they are, and for more reasons than simply that, as far as Jaskier believes, everyone is. 

This is how his heart doesn’t break from unrequited love. They care for him, and loving them back, even if it’s different, even if his love is _more_ , is enough. 

He’s still feeling a little misty-eyed and sentimental – highly appropriate for the season – when Geralt finally re-emerges. In yet another probable first for the night, the witcher is carrying a tray with three mugs of steaming hot liquid on it, along with a plate of what looks like some kind of cake. He looks almost shy, which is impossible, and so incredibly domestic that Jaskier can only stare in charmed surprise. Yen, noticing this, looks up and laughs out loud, gesturing for him to put the tray down on a small side table that’s suddenly magically clear of books and giving him a fond look that might make her the most beautiful she’s ever been in Jaskier’s eyes. 

Geralt, still following Yen’s loving but impatient gesturing, sits back down on Jaskier’s other side. He’s apparently forgotten about the tray of refreshments he just brought in, as he doesn’t offer either of them anything or even glance at it; he looks like a man trying extremely hard to act normally, and it’s both endearing and baffling.

“Geralt, _what_ is wrong with you tonight?” Jaskier asks, putting his book aside, and if he sounds more exasperated and concerned than he intends it’s just because everything has become so strange and off-kilter in the last couple of hours and he can’t stand not knowing _why_.

Geralt looks distinctly uncomfortable, and Jaskier almost wishes he had just let him be in an odd mood in peace, but then Yen says, “Tell him, Geralt.” Geralt looks past Jaskier at her with the most betrayed expression on his face, and Jaskier can’t help but laugh.

“Gods, the intrigue is _killing_ me! Come on, now you _have_ to tell me – _one of you_ has to tell me, Geralt, but it sounds like it’s going to have to be you – and then we can all just settle down and have a nice Midwinter’s eve. I for one have a very interesting and sexy book I want to finish reading…”

“Yen, can you-” Geralt starts.

“No, absolutely not. Geralt, you will not shy away from this now!”

“You can-”

“No, we decided-”

They bicker back and forth for a minute, and Jaskier thinks he may honestly be more mystified than he’s ever been about anything in his life, and then suddenly there’s quiet surrounding him, and Geralt’s taking a deep, calming breath as if he’s about to go into battle, and he looks very seriously at Jaskier and says:

“We want you to join us.”

“Ummm…. What?” Absolutely nothing has been cleared up. “I… have? I’m right here, Geralt, I’m fairly hard to miss, all things considered…”

They stare at each other for a moment. Geralt apparently has nothing further to offer.

“Fucking hell, you’re both idiots,” Yen says in frustration, and Jaskier’s inclined, for once, to think she’s right. “Jaskier. Look at me.”

Jaskier studies Geralt’s stressed expression for a second before he turns to Yen instead. She speaks before he has the chance to say anything (such as, for example, “what the fuck is going on, I’m serious this time”).

“He means we want you to join our relationship.”

Jaskier freezes up completely in abject shock.

“Ummm… What?” he says again, because something clearly just happened in his brain, or some kind of spell’s been put on him, and he could have sworn she said-

Yennefer sighs like she’s contemplating some mildly tiresome task, but her eyes are unusually gentle as she regards him. “We didn’t plan to ask you tonight, and we certainly didn’t plan to ask you like _this_. We were going to wait until tomorrow, but then when you suggested we light a yule log and start a tradition that was ‘just ours’, it seemed like now was the time.”

“It seemed romantic,” Geralt puts in suddenly, and Jaskier turns to look at him so fast he feels dizzy for a second.

“Romantic,” he echoes weakly, and Geralt looks at him with the softest expression he could ever imagine, apparently calmer now, though with just the shadow of a frown.

“Oh, _now_ you’re being helpful,” Yen says, and Geralt makes a wordless, grumbling noise back at her, and for a second Jaskier thinks they’re going to take up bickering again, having just effectively turned his entire world upside down. 

They don’t, though; they just look at him expectantly.

He looks back and forth between them.

“I’m sorry, what is happening right now?” He can hear that he sounds slightly whiny and plaintive but it’s just that, well, he’s misunderstanding, he’s missing _something_ , because it’s not possible… It’s just not possible that they’re actually talking about…

For a split second, he wonders if it’s a joke at his expense. If it is, it’s the cruellest one imaginable… But no, both of them are more than capable of being mean to him if they want to, and if they were inclined to be quite this cruel (which Yen in particular might say she was but it would be a lie) they would still never bother with a deception like this. No, that doesn’t make sense at all.

“You’re being stupid, Jaskier,” Yen says impatiently, and there, that’s more the kind of not even half-hearted meanness he’s most likely to get from them these days. 

“Am I? Am I?” he says, turning to Geralt, and great, now he sounds lost and possibly unhinged.

“A bit, yeah,” Geralt says, offering him a tiny, maybe slightly nervous smile. “We…. want to be with you. That’s it.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, feeling extremely dazed-

“Romantically,” Geralt interrupts him before he can say _but you are with me..._ “As… Hmm. As lovers.”

He hasn’t ever let himself imagine this being offered to him, but if he had, he would have imagined himself being over the moon, insanely happy, there would probably be happy tears… As it is, he just feels a little light-headed, and _anxious_ . This can’t be right, it can’t be happening, it’s so completely unexpected… _Not possible_ , he keeps saying to himself, _it’s not possible_.

“Jaskier, it’s alright,” Yen says in the softest voice he’s ever heard her use, just as Geralt puts a tentative hand over his. “Nothing’s going to change if you turn us down. Or, if you have feelings for only one of us,” she goes on, glancing at Geralt, “that’s okay too. We’ve talked about that, and if you want to be with one of us but not the other, we can make that work.”

“No, I- No, but- But…” Jaskier has literally never been this far from able to find words in his entire life; his heart is beating so fast that he suspects it might actually be dangerous. He can’t look at either of them, stares blankly at a particularly noticeable book with a gold title that’s glinting in the light of the candles in the room. “I don’t… understand?” It’s the closest he can get right now to _I’m completely, unbelievably overwhelmed and I’m not sure if this is real and also I feel scared, for some reason, instead of happy or even hopeful._

“We love you,” Geralt says in his calmest, most reassuring voice, and everything panicking in Jaskier finally slows, his heart and his racing thoughts; everything around him, around _them_ , seems to slow too, til it seems a bit more real and a bit less dreamlike. He looks at Geralt, who doesn’t look comfortable, exactly, with having made such a declaration, but does look calm and steadfast, so _certain_ that abruptly Jaskier just believes him. 

“You love me,” he murmurs, and it’s not really a question, but he turns to Yen and she nods. 

“We do. _I_ do, gods help me,” she says, and again, he knows it’s the truth. 

“I… I didn’t know. I mean, I knew you loved me as a friend, I suppose, and cared about me, but not that you felt like that!”

“Obviously you didn’t know, otherwise we wouldn’t have had to tell you, would we?” says Yen.

“No but I mean, I had _no idea_ , at all, that either of you would ever- Could ever-” Jaskier thought for a second there that he had his words back, but they leave him again abruptly, and, oh, there are those happy tears, he’s not sure he’s going to be able to stop them from falling, and an overwhelming feeling that’s something like happiness but so much _more._

“So then… will you?” Geralt asks slowly, and Jaskier watches him in confusion for a second, his eyes blurring with the tears he’s still trying to hold off. Geralt looks away and seems to force himself to look back, and Jaskier realizes he hasn’t actually given them an answer. Honestly, he’s surprised they don’t know how he feels, surprised he needs to give them an actual verbal reply.

“Will I… be your lover?” he says, listening to his own words and still shocked that he’s saying them. He looks from Geralt to Yen and back, and back again; he can’t decide who to look at, shifting in place for a second before he stands and shoos Geralt into the middle of the couch with awkward gestures, full of nervous energy even if the weird scared feeling from before has disappeared completely. He sits down where Geralt was a second ago and looks at both of them – that’s better. “Of course I will! Gods, of course I will! For the record, I can’t actually believe you need me to say it in so many words, surely you know how I feel about you, about _both_ of you…” 

He wants to reach out and hold them, hold their hands at least, but that too is made slightly more awkward by the fact there’s two of them, and he can only reasonably reach Geralt, so for now he keeps to himself at the end of the sofa. 

“I _love_ you, I love you both so much, more than anything, I didn’t think I’d ever actually get to _tell_ you but I- oh, I-” The inevitable tears are overflowing, he realizes, and streaming down his face quite dramatically. He wipes at them, although it’s completely futile and they keep coming. Yen and Geralt are looking at him uncertainly. 

“What, haven’t you ever made a man cry with happiness before?” he asks, laughing shakily. 

“Not with happiness, no,” Yen jokes back, a wicked smile appearing, and Jaskier laughs more, feeling slightly out of control. 

“I’m fine, this is just- I’m just- overwhelmed, but in a good way. You two love me? You, you _want_ me? You want to be with me? How can I possibly learn something like that all of a sudden and not find it a bit… much?”

“But… you’re happy. And you want to be with us too. And… you love us,” Geralt says as if he too is taking stock of the situation, though in a far less emotional way. 

“Yes! Gods! Yes!”

Jaskier’s barely finished speaking when Geralt’s easily manhandling him back into the middle, and the problem of wanting to embrace them both is solved by them throwing their arms around him from either side. It’s such an unlikely situation to find himself in, held in the loving arms of two people he never, ever thought could share his feelings, and yet it also feels grounding, calming, _real_ , and his heart rate finally feels something like normal. 

It leaps up again a few long, lovely moments later when Geralt carefully turns his head so he can kiss him, surprisingly sweet and almost shy, followed by Yen doing the same (also sweet but not remotely shy). They share a lot of long, slow kisses between the three of them over a period of time that Jaskier can absolutely not define. He could literally die happy – but he very much hopes he won’t. He wants so much more of this with them, since it turns out it’s apparently his for the taking. He wants to spend so much more time with them, as much as his human lifespan allows. There’s so much more he wants with them physically, too, although really and truly he would be content with just this – just getting to kiss them and be held by them and be close to them. Hell, an hour ago or a few minutes ago or whenever it was, he was content just to be their friend and spend time in their company, nursing his unrequited love in silence (and occasionally in lightly veiled song).

At some point he feels Geralt shift, one unreasonably strong arm detaching from around his waist, and he doesn’t realise until there’s a soft rushing sound and a sudden heat that he’s reached out and lit the all but forgotten yule log where it’s been waiting patiently in the fireplace.

“Geralt!” Yen exclaims in mild indignation, also removing herself somewhat from Jaskier’s embrace. “I thought we were going to do it properly, make it nice? Say a few words and start a tradition?”

“Fine. Hmm. Jaskier,” Geralt starts, taking his hand and looking at him and Yen, his eyes glowing with amusement in the firelight. “Thank you for starting this tradition that we can all share in years to come. From now on… please share everything else with us too.”

His voice is oddly solemn, and though the moment feels lighthearted it also feels… meaningful. Which is what Jaskier had hoped for, of course, but he hadn’t exactly had this in mind – one hand holding Geralt’s, Yen tucked up against his other side, warm and cozy and intimate. 

“That was… actually perfect,” says Yen. “Jaskier… Share everything with us?”

“I will,” he says, then again in a way that sounds less cheerful and easy and more like the promise it is. “I will.”

As Midwinter's Eves go, it’s one of the quietest Jaskier can remember. They talk and laugh and kiss, oh, hundreds of times; he plays a bit and sings softly, taking a few requests for Midwinter songs; and as the night turns into early morning they sit together and watch the yule log burning, both fierce and comforting.

He has no desire to go to sleep, but tiredness catches up with him before too long, and he lays his head on Geralt’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Yen is already asleep, he thinks, although she’s holding her book as if she’s still reading it. Geralt probably won’t sleep for ages, if at all, but seems perfectly content to stay where he is and be a pillow.

“Happy Solstice,” Jaskier murmurs sleepily to both of them, receiving no reply except what he thinks is a tiny kiss pressed into his hair from Geralt and a quiet murmur from Yen. He meant to go outside again tonight, he realises, admire the incredible scenery and the magic of the Northfire and just take it all in a bit more. Never mind. There will be time for all that, and sharing it with these two amazing people, sharing everything he possibly can with them, will mean even more tomorrow, and, he hopes, forever, than it did yesterday. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Giftee! 
> 
> So.... what I intended to write was somewhat different to what I ended up with! All of this (but shorter) was meant to be the first half of the fic, and the second half was going to be a lovely not-Christmas day with Ciri and Triss and the other witchers and general chaos (the boring non-magical kind), and our three lovelies were going to decide not to disclose their new togetherness status just yet, and keep it as something else that was just theirs for a while longer... 💞 But I'm afraid I never quite got there! I'll be sure to let you know if I ever get round to writing part two. Maybe next Christmas...? 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed it, at least a bit! Happy Holidays again, and I hope you stay warm and safe for the rest of the winter :)
> 
> Many thanks to [Calire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calire/) and [dragon_rider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider) for reading this over for me when I finally finished it, and listening to me stressing about trying to make it good as I was writing it! 🚿🧡


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